The Handler

Ren’s apartment was a studio above a detached garage. It was sterile—a bed, a table, a lamp. No photos. No clutter. Nothing to leave behind.

He unlocked the door on a Thursday evening, carrying a bag of takeout for him and Maya, who was coming over later to study.

The lights were off.

Ren reached for the switch.

"Don't," a voice said from the darkness.

Ren dropped the food. His hand went to the waistband of his jeans, where he kept a ceramic knife taped to his skin.

The lamp in the corner clicked on.

Sitting in Ren’s single chair, looking completely at ease, was a man in a gray suit. He was eating an apple he had taken from Ren’s counter.

Vance.

His Handler. The man who had raised him. The man who taught him how to strangle a target with a shoelace before he learned long division.

"Hello, 33," Vance said, using Ren’s designation number. He took a bite of the apple. *Crunch.*

"I'm out," Ren said, his voice steady, though his blood had turned to ice. "I have an agreement with the Feds."

"The Feds are underfunded and easily bribed," Vance smiled. It was a shark’s smile. "Did you really think we’d let an investment like you just... walk away? You're prime stock, Ren."

"Get out," Ren said. "Or I'll remove you."

Vance laughed. He stood up, dusting crumbs off his lapel. "You could try. But I didn't come alone. And I didn't come without insurance."

Vance reached into his pocket and tossed a stack of photos onto the table.

Ren looked.

They weren't surveillance photos of him. They were photos of Maya.

Maya walking to school. Maya in the darkroom. Maya laughing in the diner. Maya sleeping in her bed.

A red crosshair was drawn in marker over her forehead in the last one.

Ren felt the world tilt. The air left the room.

"She's pretty," Vance said casually. "Civilian. Soft. Breaks easily."

"If you touch her," Ren whispered, a low growl rising in his throat, "I will burn you alive."

"So dramatic," Vance tutted. "I don't want to hurt her, Ren. I just want you to work. We have a problem in this town. A rival cell is moving product through the Old Cannery. We need it cleared out. No witnesses."

"I don't do that anymore."

"You do tonight," Vance said. "Midnight. The Cannery. Clear the cell, and I leave the girl alone. Refuse... and I pay her a visit."

Vance walked to the door. He paused, looking back at Ren.

"Don't try to run, 33. We have eyes on her house. If you leave town, she dies. If you call the cops, she dies. If you fail... she dies."

The door clicked shut.

Ren stood in the silence, looking at the photos of the girl who had taught him how to smile.

He realized then that redemption was a fairy tale. He was a monster. And monsters destroyed everything they touched.

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